Another Year
by Ghostytea
Summary: John thinks about Sherlock on the eve of their 3rd year apart. PLEASE REVIEW This is my first fanfiction so I want some feedback.
1. Chapter 1

John sat silently in his chair, his fingertips gently kneading his temple. He stared at the indentations Sherlock had left in the chair opposite him. Two round depressions in the arms of the leather chair, where he would rest his elbows when he was lost in his endless thoughts. There was a deep trench in the head where Sherlock's neck fit perfectly. John thought about the times when Sherlock would be so insufferable and sulky. He would lie on that chair for hours at a time, with a vacant look in his eye like he was completely disconnected from the world that people were aware of. John would stare at him and imagine all of the thoughts coursing through the man's head. The occasional flicker of light in his eye, or twitch of the finger would interrupt complete stillness. John often looked past his annoyance and found these hours of Sherlock's disconnection fascinating and beautiful.

John often caught Sherlock looking at him with the same fascination and interest. Sherlock loved observing John when he was doing mundane things such as, reading the paper or making coffee for the two of them. The familiarity and routine Sherlock felt when he was with John was comfortable, unlike all the other uniformity in the world. John thought of all of the things that he would never get the chance to say. John snapped back to reality, and realized that he hadn't been breathing. The silence was too much to bear so he let out a shallow and slow breath. He glanced at his watch, sighing.

"Almost midnight" he muttered to himself, "the end of a 3rd year without you, Sherlock."

He glanced up at the chair again deciding whether or not to go to bed. Eventually, he reached for his cane and stood up. He turned and limped slowly towards his bedroom for yet another sleepless night.


	2. Chapter 2

The date was May 19th, 2015.  
>John rolled onto his side and grabbed his buzzing phone that was sitting on his bedside table. It took a while for John to realize where he was. The night before was all a blur, and all that he could remember was passing out on the kitchen floor. How had he gotten back to bed? He didn't remember walking there. Eventually, John dismissed these thoughts and assumed Mrs. Hudson had helped him back to bed the night before. He swung his legs around and planted them firmly on the ground. John scratched his head and rubbed his eyes. All of a sudden, he felt the pain of last night, his head pounded as if he had fallen off of a building. John pushed away that thought immediately. He slowly opened his eyes and clutched his cane, easing into standing up and walking into the kitchen. The pain of waking up was unbearable for John. Whether it was the dreams of the night before or the drinking of the night before, he was sure to wake to a head full of thoughts that he did not welcome.<p>

John grabbed Sherlock's robe off the back of the door and put it on. Wearing Sherlock's clothes was something that John did routinely. Most often, he ended up wearing his robe. The sheer fabric felt good against his skin, and even though it no longer smelled of Sherlock, it gave John a certain amount of comfort that Sherlock was there with him. John made his way into the kitchen where he made himself a cup of coffee. He yawned and turned to walk into the sitting room.

At first, John couldn't believe his eyes. He saw a long lean figure with curly black hair sitting in Sherlock's chair.  
>"Who are you!"A lump caught in John's throat and he couldn't get out another word. Sherlock had taught him never to do something as foolish as believing something just because you observed it with your eyes. <em>The mind plays tricks on people. Always remember that, John.<em>

"Good morning, John."

John recognized that deep voice. It was as rough as gravel yet as smooth as silk. It was the voice that had saved him. That was the man who had saved him countless times and in more ways than one. He was sitting in Sherlock's chair. No, this was just his mind playing tricks on him. It had to be. He dropped his cup and it shattered on the ground. His world started to fade to black. The last thing that he saw was the man, who was sitting in Sherlock's chair, rushing towards him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock sat in his chair, silently watching John sleeping on the couch. The rhythmic rise and fall of John's chest was hypnotizing. The humanity of John was hypnotizing. Every last thing about him was endlessly fascinating. _How could one human being carry my attention for hours on_ _end? _Sherlock puzzled. He knew that this was not going to be easy. He considered waking John up to get it over with, but couldn't bring himself to interrupt such serenity. John suddenly breathed in quickly and his head rolled to the side. His eyes opened and, upon seeing Sherlock, turned completely pale. He blinked and rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

"Sh-Sherlock? How, could you be here? How are you here? You're HERE Sherlock," John moved to stand up winced in pain, "Bloody hell, Sherlock. You're here." John buried his head in his hands.

"John, quit repeating yourself. Yes, yes, I am HERE." Sherlock muttered to himself. He knew immediately that it was the wrong thing to say, because the next thing he knew, John's fist connected with Sherlock's jaw.

"Sherlock, YOU WERE DEAD! For three fucking years, Sherlock! You can't just come in here and-" John lost his footing and staggered back, falling back onto the couch. His mind was spiraling out of control.

Sherlock held his jaw and cursed under his breath. "John, I'm sorry I really am. Please just calm down, I can explain everything."

"I don't want to hear your excuses!" John gasped with great difficulty. Sherlock looked up to see John with his head in his hands, choking out sobs. His shoulders jerking up and down. Sherlock stood and walked over to where John was sitting. Sherlock sat beside him and wrapped his arm around John's shoulders. At first, John flinched away from Sherlock, but eventually settled into his grasp. John turned his head to see Sherlock, and for the first time in 3 years, they looked each other in the eye.

John's hair was now almost completely gray with very little blonde left. His once deep brown eyes now reflected a broken man. Red rings circled his eyes and tears ran down his cheeks. He looked into Sherlock's eyes with confusion and hope.  
>Sherlock's hair was still dark brown and curly. His piercing green eyes were still intense and serious. He was a man hardened by years of keeping his doctor safe. <em>His doctor<em> was all that mattered. His one true friend. There for him when no one else was. Sherlock held John to his chest tightly.

"Don't you ever do something like that ever again, Sherlock." John said. His words were muffled by the fabric of Sherlock's shirt. "because, if you do, I will kill you. You know that?" Sherlock chuckled and closed his eyes.

"I'd like to see you try." Sherlock gave John a tight squeeze and then pulled away. He stood up and looked around the flat. _Just like I left it_ he thought to himself, _how loyal_. 


End file.
